


Why Natasha Romanoff Is Not a Morning Person

by shulamithbond



Series: Marvel Femships [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awesome Jane Foster, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Disabled Character, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jane has issues, Multi, Natasha Feels, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha has issues, Natasha is one hundred percent done, Natasha-centric, Other, autistic Jane, except Sif
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff, adjusting to her new relationship with Sif and Jane Foster.</p><p>Thanks to the-trickster-and-the-optimist (wwretchedwwaltzing) for the ship idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff and angst featuring some discussion of an autistic shutdown (written by an autistic person, in case you were concerned about that).
> 
> (Also, on an unrelated note, why is Natasha's last name always spelled with a V on this site, at least in the tags? I know it can be spelled that way, but most places it's spelled with two F's? Which is why I spell it that way in the fic.)

        Natasha Romanoff hasn’t been a heavy sleeper in years. Maybe there was a time when she was, once, but like so much else, she can’t remember that. Maybe she’s blocked it out. Anyway, these days, she can’t afford to be. Better to be a little groggier in the morning because your radiator woke you up at four AM, than to be dead.

        Of course, that was back when she still lived alone. And, by extension, slept alone.

        So when Jane, tucked up against her in their big king-sized bed jerks awake, throws the covers back, and bounds off the mattress, Natasha jolts awake, too, one arm automatically reaching for the knife she’s managed to stash down behind the mattress skirt, one of those little corner spots in a room where no one quite manages to look when they clean. She’s not supposed to keep weapons in their bedroom – the rule they’d adopted at Sif's insistence was the hook and umbrella stand by the front door – but Natasha has always balanced adherence to the rules and procedures of a given situation with her own experience and intuition. And in this case, her own experience and intuition are telling her to sleep with a weapon within arm’s reach. The other two would never admit it, but surprise night “visits” from Doom, Loki, the Brotherhood, several of Natasha’s old enemies, and other assorted criminals have proven her instincts right. So even though Sif disapproves – apparently it’s some Asgardian custom not to carry weapons in the house – she’s stopped bugging Natasha about it.

          When Natasha is finally able to get her heart rate down to normal levels, she opens her eyes. She’s alone in the large bed now, but she can hear morning sounds coming from the kitchen. She peers at her clock radio. She could go back to sleep for twenty more minutes, but decides it’s not worth it.

         She steps into the bathroom and can’t stifle her groan. She’d forgotten about the petri dishes. Their master bathroom isn’t big and doesn’t have great ventilation, so they started getting mold in the cracks of the 1970’s-looking tile job. It was simple enough to clean it off; Natasha and Sif did it themselves to save on the cost of hiring someone, and to minimize the amount of strangers walking through their home. But not before Jane got her hands on some samples, stacking the precarious little dishes on the counter, where they can easily fall down into the sink or onto the floor. They’ve already had to clean up broken glass twice in here.

        “But you’re a _physicist_ ,” Natasha had protested when Jane first announced her plan to study their shower mold. “Not a biologist.”

        “I can have other interests,” Jane had replied, a bit defensively. “I can’t think about the Bifrost all the time. I need to do _something_ for fun.” The idea that studying mold counted as a recreational activity for some people is something that even Natasha, with her experience of the vast array of human strangeness that exists in the world, could never have foreseen. It takes a lot of care and deft maneuvering to plug in and operate her straightening iron, but Natasha’s skills have prepared her well.

        An acrid smell of overheated machinery and burning coffee beans meets her nostrils as she enters the kitchen, and in fact Natasha can even see a slight, smoky haze to the air above the coffee maker. Sure enough, Sif is standing in front of it. This is a slight improvement over the time in Stark Tower when Thor tried to make coffee on his own, since Sif isn’t bellowing at the machine in frustration, but Natasha’s gaze immediately flicks up at the smoke detector, and a cold, stony feeling of dread fills her stomach.

        “ _Jane_ ,” she starts, making sure her voice carries to the computer in the corner of the den, just outside the kitchen, but it’s too late and she’s drowned out by the smoke alarm.

        “What do I do?” Sif calls out over the periodic squalling. “How can I stop it?”

        “Leave it to me,” Natasha orders. “Go take care of Jane.” Out of the corner of her eye, she can already see the petite young woman going rigid in her chair, hands pressed tightly over her ears – leaving herself stuck, since in order to reach for her noise-cancelling headphones, she would have to remove her hands from her ears, which Jane in her current state would find unthinkable.

        Natasha wonders often why they still have their smoke detectors. Given the problems they cause whenever they go off by mistake, in proportion to the actual fires they’ve detected (none, except for once during one of those aforementioned “night visits,” and of course they were already awake by the time it started), Natasha seriously questions whether it’s worth it.

         It doesn’t take too long to take a broom handle and basically smash the detector, but it still takes Jane a few minutes in Sif’s arms – and Natasha’s, too, even though she knows her hugs are too stiff and not constrictive enough for Jane (and it’s one of those times she thanks whichever God or gods there might be that she has Sif, because Natasha knows Jane would have broken down long ago with only Natasha to take care of her at times like this) – to recover. She’s still wearing her pajamas, Natasha realizes, and doesn’t look like she’s washed up yet or even combed out her hair. She’d probably had some kind of epiphany in her dreams and gone straight for the computer as soon as she woke up. “Did you eat?” she asks Jane now.

         “Uh…” Jane’s brow knits as she tries to remember. “I think I had some cereal.”

         Natasha looks over at the new Kashi box that sits, still unopened, on the kitchen table, the milk and an empty, clean bowl and spoon set out beside it. Jane had started the process, or maybe Sif had, but one of them had gotten distracted and either way, it makes something in Natasha start to sweat. “No, you didn’t. Go eat something, Jane.”

         “I was right in the middle of”-

         “ _Now_ , Jane.” She can't keep the harshness out of her voice as she rounds on Sif. “Here’s an idea: next time, instead of setting kitchen appliances on fire, maybe you could make sure _she_ eats something. _Anything_. Just get her a bowl of cereal or something. It’s not hard. It’s not rocket science. What are you two going to do when I’m gone, huh?” She realizes she’s yelling, or close to it, and takes a deep breath before she gets any louder and Jane shuts down for real this time.

         Sif doesn’t look too angry, just stung. “I was hoping to brew you coffee before you left,” she explains coolly. “I can use the one at the Tower. This one is different; there is a different method of instructing it as to what functions to perform. I believe the one at the Tower may be newer in design.” She shifts, and folds her arms. “And Jane will eat. Sooner or later.”

         “That’s right. I’m not a kid.” Jane pokes her head into the kitchen from where she’s settled back at the computer desk. “Not everyone is a Norse warrior goddess or a Russian secret agent, you know. It doesn’t mean I can’t do anything.”

        Natasha knows Jane is right, knows she’s being irrational, but she can’t shake it. “I just want to know that you’ll both be all right while I’m gone.” _And I’m kicking myself because I know I should have taught you both better – especially you, Sif – but I didn’t because there wasn’t time…and because I wanted there to be something still for me to do. Because I’m not the kind of person who’s good at being a ‘girlfriend,’ and I think if I wasn’t the one who knew how to do the ‘everyday Earth’ things, you two wouldn’t need me anymore._

        She doesn’t say any of it out loud, of course – even if the idea of voicing something like that wasn’t completely terrifying, where would she even begin? – but something of it must creep into her tone, because Sif looks over at her and Natasha watches her soften.

        “We will be all right,” she reassures, warmly but with that Asgardian solemnity that leaves no possible room for doubting her words. Natasha lets Sif pull her against her chest, inhaling the faint cotton and herbal soap scent of her. “We will both be just fine, and when you return, you will find us waiting here, ready to greet you and celebrate your victory.” And a part of Natasha wants to object that it probably won’t be a “victory” – she’s a successful agent, but she’s seen the Asgardian concept of what victory means, and pretty much none of what she does qualifies as that, but she keeps quiet.

        “That’s right,” agrees Jane, joining them and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s other side, sandwiching her in. “We can go and get borscht at that place from last month that you liked.”

        Natasha forces her voice to stay steady – she doesn’t know why, but she seems to be having trouble with that at the moment; it’s really annoying – as she nods. “You’re right. You two are going to be okay. I know that.” She tries to laugh. “Soon, you’re not even going to need my help.”

        “Yes, we will.” Jane presses a kiss into her hair. “We’re always going to need you, Natasha.”

        Natasha closes her eyes and doesn’t know how they stay like that. On one side is Sif, so muscled she makes Natasha look out of shape, a few inches taller and beautiful, but very strong, hugging both of them protectively. On her other side there’s Jane, the smallest of the three women, and soft, so much softer than most of the people Natasha ends up touching on a regular basis; completely physically unintimidating, almost helpless in someone like Natasha’s view, but possessed of her own kind of strength, a fearlessness in the face of the unknown. Between them both, Natasha feels almost natural, almost as if it’s where she’s supposed to be. It’s an unfamiliar feeling.

        Eventually she forces herself to look over at the stove clock. “I should go.”

        “Be sure to bring us a few ‘souvenirs,’” Sif orders, and it takes Natasha a minute to see the gleam in her eye and to realize that she’s being sarcastic. The tension breaks like the snapping of a wire pulled too tight, and Natasha laughs her way out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha keeps bumping into Lady Sif at Stark Tower, and it's beginning to get on her nerves. Takes place before Chapter 1.
> 
> (Also, in case you were wondering, my headcasting for Lady Sif in this is Zoe Saldana.)

         Natasha enjoys staying at Stark Tower. She’s observed how Bruce is when he’s at the Tower, and he’s able to let himself go here; if anything, he gets more like the Other Guy, which in Bruce’s case isn’t such a bad thing. For Natasha, it’s the opposite: when she comes to the Tower, the Black Widow goes away. She doesn’t have to be pretty or polished here; even Tony’s eye stopped wandering her way after Manhattan, and now she suspects he’s more likely to knock out any guy staring at her, than to join him. She doesn’t even have to worry about sleeping through noises that might mean danger. There’s JARVIS for that.

        And she has the luxury of waking up _slowly_. She’s having coffee and toast right now at the main kitchen’s breakfast bar in her oldest, most torn-up, least-sexy sleeping clothes; they’re not even really pajamas, just a big t-shirt and a pair of holey sweatpants. Her hair is a rat’s nest. It feels good. In a minute she’ll check her phone; maybe there’s a text from Jane, and that would be good, too.

         “Excuse me,” says someone from behind her.

         Freezing up mid-sip, Natasha turns slowly on her stool, and does a double take.

         The woman is taller than she is, probably almost as tall as Thor, and nearly as muscular. Her armor is different – it includes a leather skirt – but it’s still definitely of Asgardian make. Her dark hair is gathered up in a ponytail on top of her head. Her gaze is set on Natasha.

         Who is doing something she hasn’t done since…actually, she can’t remember the last time she did it.

        She can feel herself blushing.

        “I am Sif, of Asgard,” the woman says a bit belatedly. “I am looking for Thor. I had heard that he was staying here.”

        For a few seconds, Natasha actually can’t remember a word of English, although given the “All-tongue” she’s seen Thor use a few times, it probably doesn’t matter. Her throat is too dry to speak anyway. She takes a long sip of coffee, and wonders how Sif made it past JARVIS and all the security on ground level, but didn’t think to ask any of it where Thor was. Then again, why would they tell her? “You can ask JARVIS,” she says when she can. “Or check his room. It’s down the hall.” She points.

         The woman nods. “Thank you.” She doesn’t move, however. “I apologize, but I am afraid I do not recall what you said your name was.”

        “I didn’t.” Natasha realizes what the woman is asking. “Natasha. Romanoff.”

         The woman’s stern look dissolves into a beaming smile. “Then it _is_ you. You fight alongside Thor when he does battle here! He speaks often of his adventures with you and your other warriors.”

        Natasha doesn’t know how to respond. She thinks she might be sleepy still and might need more coffee, but then again, she wonders if there’s enough coffee in the world to help her keep this odd-feeling conversation going. “We all do. Fight alongside him.”

        “Yes, of course.” Sif looks down at her boots momentarily. “Well…I must go and find Thor. Good day.” She strides past Natasha without looking at her again, and suddenly Natasha wants to punch a hole in a wall without knowing why.

 

        She’s actually training the next time it happens; she’s sparring with Clint and hears the door to the gym open behind her, and turns despite herself to see Sif watching them from back near the wall. Clint manages to land a punch while she’s distracted, and knocks Natasha on her butt.

        She’s blushing again, but this time she knows why: she’s embarrassed. Much as she’d never admit it to herself, fighting alongside Thor makes her self-conscious at times about just how weak and human she really is. It’s one reason she hasn’t sparred down here with him yet. She knows from her SHIELD intel how Asgardians see humans; _they think we’re weak_. And Natasha has always hated feeling weak.

         She glares up at Clint, who just looks confused. She knows it’s not fair, but why did he have to knock her down _now?_ Natasha feels like a petulant child, and she wonders in passing why this Sif person – who is presumably looking for Thor again – keeps on looking wherever Natasha happens to be.

        “Thor’s not here,” she tells Sif, trying not to growl. “You can try upstairs. Ask JARVIS.”

        Sif doesn’t reply for a moment, as if there’s something she wants to say.

        Clint clears his throat. “Come on, Nat, let’s take a break. We can go to that yuppie fro-yo place Tony buys from all the time.” He grins up at Sif. “Want to come? Do they have frozen yogurt or ice cream or anything on Asgard?”

        Natasha wonders if she’s just in a bad mood, or if Clint’s actually hitting on this woman five seconds after punching Natasha in the face. “I’m not hungry,” she says loyally. “You two go on ahead. Maybe bring me something back and I’ll put it in the freezer for later.”

         “Write your name on it,” Clint reminds her almost parentally, and Natasha rolls her eyes at him. “Thor’ll eat it otherwise,” he explains to Sif. “We’re trying to train him out of it, though.”

        Sif looks unhappy, but maybe it’s just Clint’s remark about Thor. “I am afraid I must decline,” she tells Clint solemnly. “I should go and find Thor.”

        After she leaves, Natasha grins up at Clint. “Better luck next time, eh?”

        She doesn’t understand why he laughs to himself as if she’s just told a hilarious joke.

 

        “Lady Sif?” The screen blurs a little as Jane shifts her position. “I’ve met her. She’s pretty nice. According to…um…Thor’s other friend…” Jane snaps her fingers, clearly trying to remember the name. “Not the one with the beard who has kids, the one with the mustache…anyway, he told me that she liked Thor. So maybe they’re together now, and that’s why she’s been at the Tower so often.”

         “Could be.” Natasha shrugs.

        Jane watches her through the webcam. “Is everything okay?”

        “Yeah.” Natasha pauses, considering telling Jane about how irate and self-conscious Sif makes her, but she knows how juvenile it would sound. “What did you think when you met her?”

         To her surprise, Jane goes red. “Well, she was very…polite. And she complimented me on the scarf I was wearing. And it turns out her cousin is Heimdall – he watches on the Bifrost – so she offered to ask him some questions for me. That was helpful.”

        “Good,” says Natasha absently. She’s not sure how she feels about Jane blushing at the memory of Sif, but then again, the warrior had the same effect on her.

        Jane smiles at her quietly. “You know, Nat, people can like more than one person. You know how I feel about you. Just because I liked Sif when I met her…it doesn’t change anything.”

        “I know that.” Natasha manages a smile back. There are times when Jane doesn’t seem to have an instinct for anything but outer space, and then there are times when Jane’s intuition startles her a little. “But thanks.”

         She listens to Jane infodump for a few minutes about the progress of the lab where she’s visiting, not understanding all of it, just letting Jane’s voice wash over her, until Jane tells her she looks like she’s falling asleep, and they say good night.

 

         The third time Sif appears at the Tower, she knocks on Natasha’s bedroom door. Natasha is recovering from a mission, but at least she’s clean and not sweaty this time. She’s almost not surprised to see the Asgardian waiting expectantly – and a bit uneasily, it seems – outside her door. “Hello, Sif.”

          “Good day.” Sif pauses. “Lady Natasha, I would speak to you in private. May I come in?”

         _So she’s not looking for Thor, then_. Natasha nods guardedly, trying to ignore the “Lady” part, and opening the bedroom door wide so that the woman can shoulder past her.

         Asgardians are always recognizable to Natasha, even when they dress in Earth clothing, as Thor sometimes does, because they exude the sense of being slightly too big for their surroundings. Sif looks just as out-of-place here, especially in her armor, and particularly among the borderline-hoarder-level clutter that is Natasha’s worldly possessions. Taking pity on her, Natasha gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile. She can feel herself going red again.

          “Thor told me of a ‘restaurant’ that is only a short distance from this Tower,” Sif begins, rather abruptly. “He said that all of you recently ate there to celebrate a victory, and you seemed to enjoy the food.” She names it; it’s an Italian place with strangely huge, doughy croutons in its salads and very good spumoni ice cream.

          Sif asks, “Would you accompany me there some night? Perhaps tomorrow?”

          And for a full minute, Natasha doesn’t understand the question. Why does Sif want to eat out at some Earth restaurant with her? It’s not like they’ve really talked enough to be friends.

         Sif seems to deflate at Natasha’s confusion. “I am sorry,” she says at last, and there’s a note of desperation in her voice. “Thor had told me that here, when you wish to…to get to know someone better, you invite them out for dinner.” She pauses. “I believe he said it was called a…‘date.’”

         Oh. _Oh_.

        If Natasha thought her face felt hot before, it’s boiling now. Strangely, though, she’s tempted. After all, she rationalizes, it’s a chance to go back to that restaurant. “That’s…very flattering,” she says slowly. “But I’m actually seeing someone right now. Jane Foster,” she adds in case Sif thinks she’s just making up an excuse. “I think you know her.”

         “Jane; yes.” Sif smiles, presumably at the memory of Jane. The smile turns sad. “I am sorry. I did not know.”

        “That’s okay.” _What is it about Asgardians that makes them so good at puppy dog eyes?_ Sif’s whole demeanor is subdued as she leaves Natasha’s room; Natasha sort of wants to punch a wall again.

 

        “She _asked you out?”_ To Natasha’s surprise, Jane laughs. “Sorry, but that’s so _sweet!”_

        “I would have thought you’d be jealous,” Natasha points out, trying not to sound like she cares, because she definitely doesn’t. “She’s basically a goddess.”

        “I guess maybe I am, but she’s _Sif_. She’s awesome. And I bet she was so _Asgardian_ about it, too. All awkward and earnest and serious.” Jane pauses. “So…what did you say?”

         Natasha raises an eyebrow. “I…told her no? Because we’re together?”

         “Oh. That’s fine.” She waits for Jane to elaborate. “I guess I was just thinking…maybe…if you wanted to…maybe you should go.”

         “What?”

         “It’s just…I’ve been gone a lot.” Jane shrugs. “And I feel really bad about it sometimes. And if I thought you had someone there…I think I might feel better, that’s all.”

          “Jane, you don’t _need_ to feel guilty about that.”

          “I know. But…you know me. I still do.”

          “So you’re telling me I should cheat on you.”

         “It’s not cheating if I’m okay with it,” Jane points out. “Seriously, I know I should feel jealous or something, Nat, but…I don’t know. I just don’t.” She smiles. “But look, if you’re not comfortable with it, then don’t worry about it.”

        It’s Natasha’s turn to shrug, completely lost. “I…guess I’ll think about it.”

 

         Sif and Thor are chatting about something when Natasha finds them in the kitchen. She’s not sure, but she may have heard the words “Pop-Tarts.” “Hi,” she announces herself, feeling awkward. “Sif, could I talk to you?”

         Thor leaves with a tact that Natasha never would have expected from him, and Sif regards her attentively. “How may I assist you, Lady Natasha?”

         Again, Natasha tries to let the addition of the title roll off her. It doesn’t help that it sounds 1000% more genuine coming from Sif than from pretty much anyone else she’s ever met. “I was just wondering if you still wanted to go out for dinner.” She swallows and adds, “Together.”

         Sif looks doubtful. “Jane will not mind?”

         “I…don’t think so.” Natasha doesn’t know what else to say about it.

         “In that case…” Sif nods solemnly. “I thank you, Lady Natasha, and I accept.”

         Natasha considers telling her that just plain Natasha is fine… _but I could get used to “Lady Natasha."_ “Then it’s a date.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this: http://blandmarvelheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/92658545138/calling-natasha-a-quim-was-the-first-time-in
> 
> Also by ideas from the-trickster-and-the-optimist (wwretchedwwaltzing).

         “AH-AH-AAAA- _CHOO!”_

        Jane is one of the loudest sneezers Natasha has ever met, but she makes up for it by looking adorable when she’s embarrassed. “Um. Sorry.” She’s shouldering her way back in through the front door, the entire top half of her body almost hidden by the enormous bouquet of…something. Something green.

         Natasha dashes over to help, and together they set the huge bunch of plant life down on the kitchen counter. Jane sniffles and grabs a napkin. “Sorry,” she repeats. “This is why I tell you guys never to buy flowers.”

         “You don’t have to apologize.” Natasha stares down at the flora. Looking at it more closely, she can see that it’s a bouquet of flowers – but everything is emerald green, from the fist-sized roses down to the sprigs of baby’s breath. Even the ribbon bundling the stems together is green silk.

         Natasha can also see a faint, jewel-like glittering on each of the flowers’ petals; it’s almost like those cheap bouquets you see at supermarkets where glitter’s been poured all over the flowers – usually wilting, painted-looking daisies – except much more expensive-looking, and the glitter doesn’t come off when Natasha rubs at it.

          “I didn’t order these,” she murmurs.

          “Me neither. And I don’t think they’re from Sif,” Jane adds. “There wasn’t any card with them.”

          Natasha reaches for her cell. “I’m calling SHIELD.”

          “You really think they could be dangerous?”

          “I think they could be magic.”

 

         “Green?” Sif’s expression is unreadable as she listens to the account.

         “And shiny,” Jane interjects.

         “And there was no notification of any kind from the sender.”

         “Nothing.” Natasha shakes her head. “I searched the hallway.”

        “Odd.” Sif shrugs and takes a bite of kielbasa. “Who would want green flowers, in any case? That sounds hideous.”

 

         Aside from some low-level magical radiation, which is apparently harmless, Bruce doesn’t find anything wrong with the flowers. He doesn’t find anything wrong with the chocolates that appear in Natasha’s locker in the women’s changing rooms outside SHIELD’s training area, either, although she notices that when he gives the box back, a couple of the little squares are suspiciously empty. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, Nat,” he remarks, apparently sincerely, not giving an explanation for the missing candy.

         Natasha glowers. The idea of someone watching her from a distance, even if it means gifts or free chocolate, rubs her the wrong way.

          _A secret admirer…who’s involved with magic_. But…no, she tells herself. It couldn’t be.

 

          The last straw comes when Jane wakes them both up with a cry. It’s only a second, and when Natasha looks up at her she can tell Jane is trying to stifle herself, but she still wakes right up and follows Jane and Sif’s gaze.

         The bedroom wall with the window is papered over by hundreds of tiny, fluttering emeralds. It takes Natasha a minute to realize that they’re insects. Butterflies.

         _That’s it_ , she promises herself. Innocent, wizard secret admirer or not, she’s had enough.

 

         She goes to him first, more or less by accident, because it’s a place to start. He’s not supposed to be in Stark Tower, but she finds him in Thor’s quarters anyway, watching _Doctor Who_ on Tony’s Netflix and clutching a handful of stolen chocolate s’more Pop-Tarts. In the corner of the room, a pile of pillows and blankets looks suspiciously fort-like. And the screen of the tablet lying beside him on the bed… _is that Tumblr?_

         “ _’Naughty Loki Confessions’_?” she reads the blog title aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

         Loki of Asgard, war criminal and wanted supervillain, snatches the tablet out of her hands, shooting her a venomous look. “I must keep abreast of all aspects of my media presence,” he snaps. “As well as what my army is up to. Besides, their devotion is refreshing.”

         Natasha decides not even to try and figure out Loki. Not today. She has too much else on her mind. “Someone magical is stalking me. They know where I live, and how to get into my stuff at SHIELD. You’re going to help me find them.”

         “Or what?” he sneers.

         Natasha folds her arms. “Do you know what kind of beating I had to put Clint through to free him from the Tesseract? Well, if you don’t help me – you will.”

         Loki swallows, licking his lips. His hand moves and Natasha moves into position, but he’s only reaching for the remote, to shut off the TV.

         After a few minutes of very loud silence, he says, “So…you did not care for the gifts, then? Not even the chocolates?” He makes a face. “ _Mortals_.”

         Natasha stares at him as she realizes what he just said. “No,” she says slowly. “Jane’s scared of bugs, and she has allergies. And those flowers looked like cabbages, anyway. As for the candy, you’ll have to ask Bruce. Or Sif.” She shakes her head. “So _you’re_ my… ‘secret admirer’?”

         Loki’s brow knits. “I am not familiar with the term.”

         “It’s a…romantic thing.”

          He looks nonplussed for another few seconds, and then his green eyes widen in horror. “ _What?_ You think that – ugh, _as if!”_ He actually looks affronted by the mere suggestion. “I am a _god_ , and I would never _lower_ myself to” –

         “Hey.” Natasha treats him to her coldest glare. “Choose your next words carefully.”

         To her surprise, he falls obediently, if sullenly, silent. At last, in a more measured tone, he says, “Yes; I sent the flowers, and chocolates, and the illusion of butterflies.”

         “Why the hell would you do that? Clearly, not to win my affections.”

         Loki curls himself tighter into a red-fuzzy-blanket-wrapped ball. For a moment, Natasha wonders if the blanket is actually Thor’s cape, but then she sees it’s not, just the same color. Natasha waits.

         Finally, he mutters, “How much…how much does Sif know about…about my antics on your ‘Helicarrier’?”

          The question seems to come out of left field, and Natasha shrugs. “I don’t know.”

         “Does she know…” he looks so miserable Natasha might almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “Does she know of the… _term_ I used?”

          For a minute, Natasha honestly can’t remember what he’s talking about. Then… _oh_. “’Mewling quim’?” she asks. Honestly, she’d pretty much forgotten about it. She’s heard much worse.

         “Yes, _that_ ,” he growls. “Does she _know?”_

         “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell her.”

        “Oh.” Loki pretends to be nonchalant. “In that case, it is of no consequence.” He pauses. “You will not tell her, then?”

        Natasha’s not sure why it matters to him one way or the other, but on instinct, she grins down at him evilly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

         The color drains from Loki’s face. He swallows again.

        “So that’s why the gifts?” Natasha shakes her head. “I didn’t even know they were from you! How was that going to help your case?”

         “I was going to tell you eventually! I knew you wouldn’t accept them if you knew I was the sender!”

         Natasha takes a deep breath. She’s just as pissed off as she was before she knew who the so-called “secret admirer” was, because in a way, this feels anticlimactic. Besides, even she can’t beat up someone who has an actual pillow fort.

         “Stay away from me, and Jane, and Sif, and my stuff,” she growls, and sweeps out of the room.

 

        “I found out who’s been sending us all the gifts,” she tells Sif and Jane that night over dinner. It’s Jane’s night to cook, so naturally they’re having takeout.

        “Who was it?” asks Jane.

        “Loki.” Natasha nods at the other two’s looks of puzzlement. “I know, right?”

         “He didn’t” – Jane picks at her noodles, looking embarrassed. “I mean, he wasn’t really your…your _secret admirer_ or anything?”

         “Oh, uh…” Natasha considers lying. But honestly, what’s the big deal? “No, he was just trying to apologize for some things he said to me while I was interrogating him, during the Manhattan thing.”

         “What did he say?” asks Sif quietly.

         “Called me a ‘mewling quim.’ Which I looked up, and apparently it basically means ‘whiny cunt.’ Except in Shakespearean, or something.” Natasha shrugs.

         “He called you” – Sif is perfectly still for a moment, and then, stonily, she stands up and strides to the stand near the door that holds her weapons.

         “Hey!” Jane calls as she and Natasha shoot up from their seats, too.

         “What” – Natasha can’t believe her eyes. Sif is suiting up – into her actual _armor_ – and apparently preparing to walk out the door. “Hey, get back here! What’s going on” –

        “I will be back soon,” Sif tells them shortly, and stalks out the door.

         Natasha shakes her head. “I’d better follow her,” she tells Jane. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Text Thor, okay?” Jane nods.

 

        Loki has managed to wedge himself under Thor’s bed when Natasha gets back to the Tower quarters. Sif is prowling around the bed, sword drawn, and if it wasn’t such a probably-dire situation, Natasha would actually find it incredibly sexy.

         “I was _brainwashed_ , Sif!” Loki fairly wails, voice muffled slightly. “The Chitauri are an extremely masculine, androcentric race!”

        “Come out, Loki,” Sif thunders. “I told you that if ever I caught you using such language again, I would demand satisfaction thus! You would speak like an old warrior in his barracks, now come out and fight like one!”

        “What is the meaning of this?” Thor demands from the doorway, apparently having received Jane’s text. “Brother, what have you _done?_ First the theft of my Popping Tarts and now this” –

         “You have no proof it was I who took your damned Tarts!” snaps Loki.

         “He did,” Natasha confirms. "I saw him."

        Thor turns to Sif. “Sif, please, I know my brother is difficult, but he is not well. He has been through much, and his mind is still not right” –

         “He called Natasha a ‘mewling quim,’ Thor!” Sif roars. Natasha actually steps back (so does Thor). She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Sif angry before. “You know that I warned him after the last time I challenged him, what would happen if he ever spoke to any woman in such a way again” –

         Thor looks taken aback – figuratively as well this time. “Loki, is this true?”

         There is a pause from under the bed, and then Loki says, “Thor – brother, what you must understand about that is” –

        Thor is already shaking his head mournfully. “I am sorry, brother. I can offer you no protection from this.”

         “What are you going to do?” Natasha demands of Sif, who shrugs gravely.

         “Loki spoke thusly once before, to my knowledge,” she explains. “And so I challenged him, and bested him in the sparring ring” –

         “You were _cruel!”_ Loki snarls.

        “Truly,” Thor agrees. “It took many days of healing, and much of our mother’s skill, before he allowed himself even to be seen by Father and I again.”

        “And I told him I would do so again,” Sif continues, “If he ever used such terms again, especially toward a woman. And that next time, I would challenge him with arms, not just skin.” She looks down again. “Come out and _face_ me, Loki!”

         “ _Never!”_ Loki yells.

         Natasha shakes her head. “Sif, I forgot all about what Loki said until he reminded me. And he gave away his plan at the time, anyway.” She shrugs. “I don’t need you ‘defending my honor’ or anything like that. Come on. Let’s just go home. Please.”

         Sif looks back toward the bed, and then deflates slightly. “Very well,” she says at last, with a long-suffering sigh. “I apologize for the commotion, Thor. Convey my apologies to Stark, as well.”

         Loki is still resolutely under the bed when Sif turns back one last time. “Do not make me come and find you again, Loki.”


End file.
